morning through thin sheets and sweet hands
by Bag Of Badgers
Summary: Completely and utterly self-indulgent GerIta morning sex. Also: sap. You know the drill.


Ludwig is pulled back to wakefulness slowly, peacefully, in a way he hasn't been for far too long. Atop him, Feliciano is half-curled up, arms still loosely wrapped around him and curly hair framing his face in a thick, dark-brown mess. Eyeing this sight with half-asleep affection, Ludwig considers for a moment falling back asleep.

His choice is made for him when Feliciano stirs and lifts his head, shifting his limbs which have become tangled in the hotel blankets. Feliciano slurs out something along the lines of "good morning", dropping his head back onto Ludwig's chest.

"Morning," Ludwig mumbles back.

"Y'sleep well?" Feliciano's voice has settled firmly in the I-need-my-coffee register, a quiet, muttery tenor that would _not_ have made Ludwig tug at his collar if he had been wearing one. Not at all.

"When I _could_," he replies, ruffling Feliciano's hair in an attempt to communicate that he's really not irritated.

Feliciano laughs quietly, muttering against Ludwig's throat, stubble scratching his Adam's apple, and slides one thigh between his.

Feliciano is many things, Ludwig thinks, and he loves all of them dearly except for the part where Feliciano leaves wet towels on the floor, but one thing he has never been is a master of subtlety. He flirts, yes, he flirts tremendously, but he is always very clear about what he's aiming for and—

—ah. Well. His _hands_ had just been very clear what they were aiming for.

_Well_.

Two can play at that game, and Ludwig slides his hands down Feliciano's back to grab at his round backside.

Feliciano bursts into a flurry of laughter and pushes himself forward a little so that they're nose-to-nose, kicking his legs up. "You wanna?"

"Again?"

"Well, we don't have to be anywhere and we haven't got any responsibilities all week and we're in bed in a hotel and you're beautiful _and_ we're naked so there were really not a lot of ways this could've gone from the start and—"

Ludwig hauls him down for a kiss, long and slow, and Feliciano presses close and tangles their legs even further and slides his fingers into Ludwig's hair, and he's nearly purring with contentment into Ludwig's mouth, and all the thick heavy warmth of last-night-early-this-morning floods through Ludwig again.

Feliciano is already trying to wiggle out of the confines of the thin sheets, and it's tough going, and they end up just kicking the sheets onto the floor. Ludwig kind of wants to put them back on the bed where they belong, but then Feliciano hauls him in for another kiss, and another, and the sheets can wait.

Stretching languidly above him, Feliciano grips at Ludwig's shoulders and pushes his hips forward, eyes hooded. Ludwig mouths at his throat and moves up, teeth scraping along his jaw, and then realizes his hips are rutting against Feliciano's and _then_ realizes that he really doesn't mind at all. Neither does Feliciano, apparently, judging from the way his nails dig into Ludwig's shoulders and the way his mouth forms into a little "o" between kisses grown messy and slow and heated.

Feliciano spreads his warm thighs, straddling Ludwig, and Ludwig falls headfirst into the slow rock of their hips and the sweet, sweat-slick slide of their skin and the heady taste of Feliciano with no responsibilities and a whole week to do as they please, and pulls him down and kisses him hard and deep until they're both breathless. Breaking the kiss, Ludwig moves his head down again to bite at Feliciano's already marked neck, and Feliciano hisses out a breath and twists his hips down, tangling his fingers in Ludwig's hair hard enough to pull. He's panting, sweaty and flushed as Ludwig must be, and they lock eyes for just a moment but it's long enough to see the haze and the brightness in Feliciano's, and then he rolls off of Ludwig for just long enough to grab the lube off the nightstand.

When Ludwig slips his fingers in, Feliciano's still pliable and a little slick from last night, and he takes in a breath and arches his back, pushing back onto the two fingers inside him and gripping the bottom sheet. He probably doesn't need this much stretching, considering, but Ludwig adds a third finger to see the way Feliciano's bottom lip catches between his teeth and drink in the little noises he makes.

He notices he hasn't got a condom, did they run out? but Feliciano doesn't seem to mind, and—and it might not be that bad, anyway, certainly something to try, and he knows Feliciano doesn't have any diseases, and he can wash off afterwards anyway and—

—And the breathy sound Feliciano lets out drowns out any objections Ludwig could have made.

"Ready?"

Feliciano nods in response, slicking one of his hands and using it to guide Ludwig inside of him, not easily but oh, _oh…_

With an experimental bounce that knocks all the breath out of Ludwig's lungs, Feliciano settles all the way down and then smiles open-mouthed and white-toothed, beautiful in the muted half-light through the curtains and tight and hot and a little strange so close around him. He hums in appreciation and guides Ludwig's ever-tentative hands to his waist before beginning to roll his hips.

The pressure is beginning to build already, coiled under Ludwig's abdomen, but he ignores thinking on that in favor of thinking on the curve of Feliciano's back and the mess that is his hair, on the slow motions of his hips (a whole week, whatever they want, how is Ludwig to survive) and the so-close warmth of him, only skin and slick, so overpowering that Ludwig pulls him back down every time he lifts his hips. Feliciano leans close, cradles Ludwig's face with one hand and kisses him, other hand between them pleasuring himself, and Ludwig moves a hand from his hips to help and their fingers meet and bump and cross each other.

Feliciano is so good at this, so good and so, so beautiful that Ludwig finds himself telling him so, in deep breathless German that he can't make head or tail of, dialects and accents and endearments falling messy and jumbled against each other the way Feliciano falls forward against him and bucks into their hands, panting Venetian into Ludwig's stubbly jawline, so warm and it's strange and different and familiar and _good_—

—Too soon, always too soon, Ludwig comes with a gasp and a shudder, mouthing endearments into the crown of Feliciano's head. Somewhere he finds the energy to continue stroking Feliciano, who thrusts shallowly into their hands until he comes into their entwined fingers with a quiet moan and flops forwards bonelessly.

Ludwig slips out of Feliciano, and really they should wash, but Feliciano kisses him once more and maybe they can stay for just a few more minutes. He manages to locate Feliciano's right hand in the tangle of tired, relaxed limbs and brushes his thumb along the knuckles, sighing a bit.

"Was that good?" Feliciano breathes eventually, wiggling down just enough to kiss the spot right over Ludwig's heart.

"Yes," Ludwig answers, and means it. "Y-you're not cold, are you?"

"Mm-mm. You're warm. Good blanket." Feliciano seems to have settled comfortably. "Didn't mind the bareback, either. 'S kind of messy, though." Ludwig draws a hand down Feliciano's back and across the tops of his thighs—ah. Well. They really should wash off, in that case.

"C'mon, shower," he says, extracting himself from the developing hug a little reluctantly, and Feliciano pouts at him and says "_Sollevami?_" and Ludwig scoops him up—he should work, maybe, on not indulging Feliciano quite so much, but if he did, he wouldn't have the chance to feel Feliciano grab onto him, to take Feliciano's right hand and kiss the fingers and the thin ring there quickly, blushing, and mutter "_Alles für meinen Mann._"

* * *

(sollevami: pick me up; alles für meinen mann: anything (i hope, "anything" is hard to translate) for my husband)


End file.
